Fiona Stewart

Grace, the radical idea freely given love of god, when experienced by individual, likely to spill over into relationships, attitudes, and change the world. 12/1/23

Scottish patron saint, St Andrew's welcoming personality in gospels had tighter grip of me than realised, be generous and inclusive. 30/11/22

Poetry, painting, baking, or in being outdoors, observe natural world, lift eyes from rubble, helping us discover joy of create, noticing beauty, and find hope. 29/9/22

Hope of Christians is found in Jesus, the God who became, died and rose to life again in order to put things right. 30/8/22

Two years ago tomorrow, first minister warned us on no certain terms that restriction we're still facing in the days ahead would be, stringent, difficult, and unprecedented. In London, the prime minister said, I know the damage, and this disruption was doing and will do to people's lives.

Some may have noticed I was cut off from broadcast of last Tuesday, although reference was made to the line being lost, the truth was just as I was about to launch into a great call to the late Desmond Tutu, I got a little over exuberant, and knocked my phone onto the floor, thus cutting the connection, not a great start for the year, professionally.

Over the weekend tribute has been paid to actor Sir Anthony Sher, whose death was announced on Friday. I was fortunate to see him perform once, it is one man adaptation of a survivor’s account Auschwitz, on a bare concrete set with only a table and chair, he held the audiences’ attention for 90 minutes without a break. Story he told was not grant historical account, but detailed description of one man’s experience of daily indignity and horror. He spoke of the removal of personal items like reading glasses, the importance of finding and keeping sturdy boots, the feelings of shame live as experiences as a survivor. Anthony Sher’s performances has remained with me, because offered a picture of one man’s ability to endure the most inhuman experience, and to try to make sense of it.

I have a confession. I forgot while I was on the on route to Thought4Day today, so yesterday morning when a text arrived wondering what I was thinking about, I

With harvest and autumn chill, comes the nagging thought that I must get my account in order and submit my tax return before the end of year. There’s a strange satisfaction in doing this, taking stock of my income and paying my dues feels like a moral act, as well as fiscal one.

20 years ago I knew very little about Afghanistan, head brutality of post-soviet regime wouldn't allow people listen music, stop girls from attending school, and routinely carried out act of violence against its citizens in the name of religion. But they all felt very remote and news are hard to come by. Now, news from Afghanistan arrives real time on our phones, TV screens. We're familiar with this far away land, perhaps we know people who serve there, or lost loved ones in conflict. We read books by Afghan authors, or scene portrait in popular films. We know more of this land and its people, and yet seems we are no closer to know how to help it to live at peace.

Where I live in Glasgow, yesterday's partial social eclipse was, well, eclipsed by low cloud. I was working at home and become aware the birds outside window were acting unusually, and the gloom of a cloudy morning felt more intense. I was on internet researching the thought, and spotted an article explaining "gradual creep" I have partially aware of was a genuine astronomical occurrence. Gradual Creep was the phrase come into mind when I read the recent report about sexual harassment amongst teenagers. Although it applies to English school and Colleges, in Scotland we'd be wise to heed its feuding. The report describes much of harassment experienced by children and young people as been so common place that they did not see any point in reporting it. Explicit pictures, sexist name calling, and other harmful sexual behaviours have become a normal part experiences of high percentage of young people.

I have coffee with a friend who's a singing teacher last week. We talked about how much we miss singing in a large group, making beautiful sounds, words in harmony with other people. I told her I sometimes worry that I will lost the ability to sing, that months of hymning behind a mask in church will mean my muscles forget how to form the shapes that produce a tuneful praiseful sound.

Admits the solemnity of funeral of Duke of Edinghbour this weekend, there was one image that stood out, that’s a casual snap taken on a summers day, an elder couple relaxing on a rug against the majestical backdrop of Aberdeen shire countryside, his hat rest on his knee, the sun catches their faces, and both smile boardly at the photographer. Of all the formal portraits and press photographs taken during their life together. This is the candid image chosen by the queen as one of her favourites. Our best loved photos are often unguarded snapshots of happiness. As I scroll through my cameraroll, I’m struck by how vibrant and cheery last 12 months of my life had appear to be. There are lots of images in my local park obviously, but also outdoor meals and walks with family and friends. Of course I didn’t record the overwhelming times of anxiety and grief, nor the sheer monotony of the days. But perhaps the negative experience make the joyful snapshots all the more memorable. If we were to see a cameraroll or album of our lives, it’s undoubtedly be formal portraits that we would want to show to the world, achievements, and moments of great pride and significance. But I suspect each of us would have candid shots we’d be less keen to display to others, moments of great sadness, or shame. Perhaps it is the fear of being truely seen that could turn us away from idea of a god who knows us intimately. But I think that hinges on what we believe the character of that god. The book of Lamentation says, the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never comes to an end. They renew every morning, great as your faithfulness. The knowledge of a steadfast god, who sees us in our candid moments, and nonetheless continues to love us, help us to make sense of every part of our lives. Because the desire to be seen, known, and loved, is surely what it means to be human.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. Traditionally a time of fasting and abstinence of 6 weeks offer space for sorrow and repentance before the celebration of new life and resurrection that is Easter Sunday. Last year's Ash Wednesday services was sombre, sitting in a church building, unmasked, but already spaced out. None of us knew what sorrows next few months would hold, nor I suspect, that almost a year on, we will be still living with restriction. But we had some inclination, that the road ahead wouldn't be long, and here we still are. It's tempt to feel though, this particular version of Lent has lasted a long time.